Limp Sam Collection
by WinchesterFanchild
Summary: Missing scenes, one-shots, short stories, requests and suggestions welcome. Angsty/Baby Brother/Hurt/Limp!Sam Vengeful/Protective/Hurt/Big Brother!Dean Pretty much anything goes, as long as it contains Hurt/Limp!Sam.  Experienced Author - New SPN account
1. Jump the Shark  Missing Scene

_**Title: Jump the Shark – Missing Scene (Blood-Loss)**_

_**Genre: Limp!Sam/ Big Brother!Dean**_

_**Warnings: Semi-graphic blood, but only as necessary to provide us with limp!Sam**_

_**Description: It always annoyed me slightly how fast Sam recovered from the blood loss in this scene, so I decided to see if I could do better. First part is a dramatization of the scene as seen on the show, then my own love of limp!Sam kicks in to expand a little on which was already there, and provide the extra interaction that I craved. **_

_**About the Author: I am a modestly successful author on under a different user name, writing in some starkly different genres, and have created this new account to express my love for Supernatural, Dean, Sam, Castiel, but most especially limp!Sam. I will be happy to take requests or suggestions, but I'll say more about that later. First, enjoy…**_

As Sam Winchester looked up into the cold, dead eyes of the ghoul who looked so much like his newly united half-brother, he could tell that these moments would be his last. He didn't know where his brother was, or if Dean would even try to find him after their earlier fight over Adam, but it didn't matter either way. He could feel his strength dwindling, fading fast, and each breath was coming slower than the last. There was no way that he would survive long enough to be found by anyone, even if these monsters didn't kill him there and then.

They had taken their time about it, if they were planning to grant him an end to the suffering. Slicing into him slowly and methodically; tasting his blood, like he was a freaking vending machine for ghoul chow. Sam could vaguely remember telling Dean that ghouls fed on the dead, yet these two seemed perfectly content to feed from his veins instead. He found himself, as morbid as it was, wondering if he tasted better to them than old blood from the cemetery. He resolved that if he was going to die he should be allowed to spend his last moments in this bizarre vanity, regardless of the stupidity and disgust that accompanied the curious thoughts.

He could feel the slow, sluggish trickle of blood from his wrists where Adam had cut into his skin and the female ghoul had lapped at the wound like a demonic puppy. He was making a good show of keeping up the fighting talk, so that his captors would not see how much pain they were inflicting, but he was beginning to flag. The edges of his vision were starting to blur grey and hazy with the effort it took to keep them open and trained on the two sadistic bastards.

The pain burst through him like a white hot flow of molten magma as Adam dug his finger into the wound in his abdomen and Sam could hear them talking above him, but couldn't make out much through the excruciating pain coursing through his body. The woman fed from him again a few moments later and Sam was sure he blacked out for a split second, before a knife gouging a hole in his forearm jarred him back to consciousness.

He gasped in agony as the knife dug ever deeper, flinched as he felt a callous hand stroke feather-like across his cheek, as then came the final blow.

"Oh, and by the way…" the ghoul wearing Adam's mother's form told him mockingly. "He really was your brother." Sam wanted to scream with hatred at her words, and the loss he felt over a brother he had never known. He wanted to snap the bindings holding him to the table and rip them apart piece by piece for what they had done, but all he could do was lie there and watch as they each took a knife to his already pallid skin.

A deep gash down each forearm and Sam knew that it was all over for him. He could no longer feel an increase in pain from the pressure the knives exerted on his abused body, pain threshold obliterated long ago, but he did hear the sickening drips as his life essence exited his body and collected somewhere below him. The slowing of his heart and breathing accelerated exponentially with the new openings and it was now draining out too quickly. It would be all over soon, and for that Sam could only be grateful. At least his end would be quick. He felt himself scream out but he didn't know why. He was no longer in control.

"Hey," a new voice joined the two above his body. It sounded like Dean. Sam's heart leapt, adrenaline kicking in as he heard a single gunshot, allowing him just enough energy to lift his head and shout a warning to his brother.

"Dean, they're ghouls," he gasped, before his head fell back onto the table again. He heard another shot and then a crash before the grey around his vision closed in again and he became unaware of anything but the steady drip of his life-force from his body to the ground. It was almost mesmerising to hear it dripping, splashing, gone forever…

His head lolled to the side, eyes almost all the way shut as Dean fumbled with the bonds lashing him to the table, trying to get his baby brother free. He tried not to panic as he unwound the tight ropes around Sam's wrists and ripped off the straps restricting his breathing, but the sight before him was enough to set his stomach rolling. He didn't think that he had seen him look that still, that pale since, well, since he had died. Dean rejected the memory and focused all of his attention back on his brother.

Sam lay unmoving on the wooden surface, his chest barely moving as he struggled for air. Dean touched his cheek, and then gave him a gentle nudge to try to rouse him. When he got no response he shook him gently by the shoulder, but again to no avail. Sam was breathing, but not a lot and not very often.

"Sam, wake up for me, buddy," Dean said softly, then again but louder this time. "Come on Sam, wake up." He felt a tear prick the corner of his eye as he gripped the shirt over Sam's shoulder and shook him harder. The younger man's head simply lolled to the side, eye still partially open yet glazed and unresponsive. He rubbed the tear back with a growl of frustration and rising panic and moved to slide an arm under Sam's shoulder's and lift his limp body to a sitting position.

Finding some clean-ish towels to the side of the table he grabbed a handful and wrapped the largest wounds with them, the deep gashes in Sam's wrists. Since he couldn't support both his brother and keep pressure on the towels Dean improvised, wrapping the makeshift tourniquet s with a roll of parcel tape and some twine he found scattered around them on the floor. Then he started t gently lift his brother down off the wooden surface and across to a nearby couch.

The back section of the couch was shredded from the fight with Adam, or the ghoul who had stolen his face, and there were at least two bullet holes, but it looked more comfortable than the hard surface he had been tied to by those murdering bastards. It took Dean a while to carry his much taller and slightly heavier little brother the few steps across the room, and he nearly lost his footing a few times due to the sheer weight of the unconscious man, but they finally made it and Dean collapsed to the ground beside the couch which now held his brother.

"Sam," he asked again, looking up at his face, which was angled towards him against the thick cushion of the leather couch. He had hoped that the journey might have woken Sam, or at least gained a movement of any kind, but he could detect no change.

"Please Sammy," he whispered, carding his fingers through his brother's blood soaked hair, as the tears finally broke free and began to leave glistening trails as they wound their way down his cheek. "I need you to wake up for me, man. You just have to. I can't lose you again, God damn it." He huddled close to the sofa, twisting his body so that his face pressed again the leather just inches from Sam's face. He didn't know what to do, what he could do to save his baby brother. His Sammy was dying in front of his eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He had felt his cell phone shatter as Adam's ghoul had thrown him across the room, and there was no way he could move Sam all the way to the Impala.

That left him with only two options. He could leave Sam behind and go and try to bring back help, or he could stay with him and watch him die. Both made his stomach churn in agony and overwhelming helplessness, but he knew before he had even formulated the thought what his decision would be. He could never abandon his brother, not even if he thought he might be able to get to a phone or hospital. His only care in the world, his one sole reason for living was inside this house, and nothing would force him to leave his brother's side when he needed him.

"Please Sammy," Dean begged once more, before dropping his hand from Sam's hair and gripping one limp hand tightly. He could feel the skin growing colder as he made contact, and that revelation scared him more than he could have ever thought possible, but he didn't let go. He just sat there, head bent and tears softly falling as he waited for the inevitable heartbreak that was to come.

"De…" Dean's head snapped up so fast he heard the joints pop, as he heard the faint murmur from above him. He found himself looking into Sam's eyes, and his heart leapt in his chest as he realised that Sam was looking back at him. His eyes were bloodshot and hooded but alert and responsive, and followed the movement as Dean pushed himself to his knees facing the couch.

"Sammy?" Dean asked in disbelief. "Can you hear me? I'm right here." Sam blinked once and then to Dean's utter astonishment he nodded almost imperceptibly. Anyone not watching closely would have missed the tiny move but Dean saw it and sighed in relief. A moment later he felt a gentle squeeze from the hand still clasped in his and he looked down to see the tips of Sam's fingers were tinged with a soft pink. It wasn't remotely skin coloured, but it was certainly a far cry from the ashen grey shade he had been when Dean had found him. That had to be a good sign, or at least Dean hoped with all his heart that it was.

The crude tourniquets were now drenched in scarlet but the flow of blood seemed to have been slowed for the moment, and that meant that Sam was no longer losing blood as fast as before. That meant that he would have a chance of making it through this, of getting to hospital if Dean acted quickly.

"Are you going to be okay for a minute Sammy?" Dean asked hesitantly, knowing that if his brother wasn't alright he wasn't going anywhere. "I need to go and get the spare cell phone out of the car."

"Use mine," Sam whispered hoarsely, his voice weak but just about audible to Dean because he was so close to him. "Left jeans pocket." Dean blanched at the horrifying realisation that he could have called for help already, but reached around to pull out the undamaged disposable phone out of the tattered jeans. With a shaky hand he dialled '911' and made sure that an ambulance would be on the way. Since he had no strength left to speak of, and there was no way that Sam was in a fit state to go anywhere, he told the operator the truth, or part of it. There was no way he would be able to clear up all of the evidence before the paramedics arrived, and Sam needed help quickly. He told them how they had come to visit their half-brother to find them dead, and their attacker had cut Sam up pretty bad and needed help. Despite it being necessary, it was as close to honest as they came with the jobs they did, and it made Dean uneasy.

Once she had assured him that help was on the way he hung up and dropped the phone onto the ground before lowering his aching body back down beside the couch to be closer to Sammy. He reached out a hand and took his brother's hand in his, in an uncharacteristic but altogether appropriate chick flick moment, and fell silent again waiting to hear the sirens wailing and help to come.

"Dean," Sam said again, this time stronger than before. It filled Dean with hope that Sam would be alright, and he sounded downright cheerful when he responded.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, man," his brother told him sincerely, giving his hand another squeeze. Dean shook his head, and smiled up at Sam.

"Anytime, dude," Dean laughed weakly and even Sam cracked a smile at that, although he winced as he did so. Then Sam nestled his face into the soft couch, shifting so that there was less than an inch between their cheeks. Closing his eyes Dean was just beginning to relax, listening to Sam's increasing steady breathing, when he heard one final whispered word.

"Jerk."

"Bitch," he replied, with a shaky sigh of relief, as the faint sound of an ambulance siren echoed through the night.

_**I hope you liked. Whether or not you thought it sucked I would always appreciate feedback to improve any aspect of my writing (via review, PM or carrier pigeon, the choice is yours). Also, I have loads of ideas for one-shots I would like to do, most involving limp!Sam, but would greatly appreciate any requests or suggestions you may have. I like hurt/comfort fics, to write and read, and I won't rule out any characters or scenarios. I'm open to just about anything…**_


	2. Heaven Hath No Fury  OneShot

_**Title: Heaven Hath No Fury**_

_**Inspiration: Zachariah's torture scene in 5.1 – Sympathy for the Devil**_

_**Photo Inspiration: www (dot) hymnsandcarolsofchristmas (dot) **_

_**Summary: An encounter with a vengeful angel leaves Sam fighting for survival against an unbeatable adversary – the very air around him. This particular angel is holding a hell of a grudge against Dean, and hurting Sam is the perfect way to make him suffer. **_

_**Warnings: Air Constriction/Drowning/Repeated Character Death (non-permanent)/Excessive Cursing**_

_**Requested by (sort of): zemyx1995 (Sam without air)**_

_**Comments: I may have gone a teensy bit over the top with this one. I plan on doing another breathing related limp!Sam one shot very soon, so if this is too crazy that one may be more your cup of tea.**_

_Now:_

"Get the hell away from my brother, you bastard," Dean spat, hurling himself towards the man who was bending over Sam's prone form as he lay helpless and unmoving on the ground. Well, man wasn't an accurate description of him. Whilst he looked for all the world like a man, Dean was well aware that it was only a mask to shield the terrifying creature that now inhabited the poor man's body. Whoever this slim, well-groomed young man had been before he had been taken was long gone, leaving behind only his likeness and a meat suit for its current inhabitant; an inhabitant that was reaching out the man's hand to harm Sam.

"Make me," came the snarled response, as his attacker turned just in time to deflect Dean's assault and divert his trajectory into the nearby wall. All the air left Dean's lungs, not unlike how it had abandoned Sam only moments before, as he impacted upon the immovable marble with a sickening crunch, and then he fell to the floor in a heap and was still. With a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across his vacant vessel's face, the vengeful angel turned his attention back to the younger brother, unconscious at his feet.

"It's a pity that Dean isn't going to be awake to watch this, but I can still enjoy this," he said in a flat, calm tone, pressing a finger gently into Sam's still chest. "Goodbye, little Sammy."

_2 Hours Earlier:_

"Damn it, Sam. Why do you bother with that crap; I can remember what rounds to use on those things without you writing it down for me. I'm not stupid." Dean was complaining, again, but Sam had long since stopped listening. He was writing up his notes on their latest conquest into his Dad's journal, for future reference. Dean had insisted that wrought iron would smote the chimera; right up until the point it was close enough to rip his throat out, despite three smoking bullet holes in its stomach. Only Sam's quick thinking, and sporadic memories of a Greek myth class in high school had spared him his life, and Sam had thought Dean would be keen to avoid that sort of mess in the future. Apparently, however, Sam had thought wrong.

"I think it's important to make sure we remember everything, Dean," Sam insisted, quickly jotting down the need for lead lined rounds, and closed the book. He stood up and turned to face Dean who was pacing a restless furrow into the motel room carpet, so keen was he to get on the road. "Okay, I'm done. Let's go."

"Finally," Dean growled, grabbing Sam's duffel of the bed and thrusting it at him, whilst practically itching to run for the door. Once they were both inside the Impala and several miles from the motel, Sam asked the question that had been bugging him since they had started the current argument.

"What's up with you, man?" Dean looked irritated, and a little confused, but said nothing. Sam tried again, but with no avail. "Seriously man, what's wrong? You couldn't wait to get out of that town. Why the rush?" Sensing that there was something Dean wasn't telling him, Sam waited for an answer.

Several awkward, silent minutes past, and then Dean glanced over at his baby brother and decided to be honest. After all, this affected Sam just as much as it did him.

"Sam, I did something stupid," he told him hesitantly. "I did something really bad, and I do know what to do apart from to get as far away from here as possible."

"What did you do?"

"Well, d'you remember last night when you were researching the Chimera and I went out for a drink."

"Yeah, but you do that every night." Sam couldn't remember Dean seeming at all odd when he had come back to the room sometime in the wee hours. A little hung over perhaps, but that was nothing new. What could have gotten him so worked up?

"I know, but last night was different. I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business…"

"By which you mean that you were flirting with every girl in sight," Sam interrupted, and Dean actually flashed him a smile before turning his attention back on driving fast and not crashing.

"You know me too well, Sammy." Anyway, I was chatting to this cute bartender when an older chick comes over and sits down next to me and orders a drink. Now I'm not usually into older chicks, but this one was totally hot and really into me, you know?" Sam nodded; he had seen Dean's legendary magnetism at work more times than he could remember, and could imagine the situation perfectly.

"So we had a few drinks, all three of us and then the mature chick invites us back to her apartment. They were both up for it, Sam. How could I say no to that? Next thing I know we are outside in the parking lot and the bartender is dead. The hot bitch slit her throat the second we were out of sight of the door, and then she turned on me. She came at me and I just reacted, you know?" Sam said nothing, too caught up in Dean's story to move a muscle. "I ganked her, pure instinct, and then there was a huge flash of light like you wouldn't believe."

"Wait, a flash? Demons don't flare up when they die. They just die. What was she?" Dean could almost hear Sam's brain whirring as he put the pieces together, and could tell the moment he figured it out because he gasped aloud. "Oh shit, Dean!"

"Yeah Sam, I know. That makes her an angel. I killed a freakin' angel, and that's not even the worst part." Dean was shaking now, and Sam was keeping a cautious eye on the climbing speedometer.

"What could be worse?" Sam asked, although he wasn't sure that he actually wanted to know.

"Cas turned up just after I finished hiding the bodies. He told me that heaven had felt a 'great upheaval' or some crap like that. You know what he's like with the melodramatic language, but this time it was my fault. He told me that they had felt the death of an angel and that the others were coming to avenge her death… which means killing me."

"He knew it was you?" Sam asked, in shock.

"He didn't say it, but I think he suspected. He said that the killer would be dead before sunrise. I came straight back to the room and guarded all the walls and door with wards to stop anything finding us. I knew that you wouldn't leave until we killed the creature so we stayed put for the night, but we need to get as far away from there as possible right now."

"Holy crap, Dean," Sam breathed, and Dean nodded in agreement. He echoed Sam's sentiment exactly. "We've been in some deep shit before, but I think this could be a new record, even for us.

"Tell me about it." Dean was just opening his mouth to reassure Sam that everything would be okay when a resounding crack rippled through the air around them and they were no longer speeding along the I90 away from their unseen adversaries. In the blink of an eye the Impala was on a tiny dirt track careening towards a fast flowing river in full flood.

Dean slammed on the brakes, tyres squealing as they attempted to combat the slick mud from the riverbank and the excessive speed at which they found themselves spinning. The car came to a shuddering halt just inches from the edge of the rushing water, and Dean had just enough time to gasp in a breath that he hadn't realised he was holding before the doors of the car flung themselves open and the brothers were airborne.

"Dean," he heard Sam scream as he was thrown through the suddenly frigid air in the opposite direction, and then his back impacted with grass and earth. Scrambling to his feet he began to run to his brother, but before he could get closer than twenty feet he hit an invisible wall and was ricocheted backwards, away from Sam once again.

"Not so fast Dean," he heard an ice-cold voice say, and looked up to see a tall man standing over him looking like he wanted to kill something, or someone.

"Who are you," Sam asked, getting to his own feet and moving as close as the invisible wall would allow. He was close enough for Dean to be able to reach out and touch, but Dean suspected that that was nothing but an illusion. They were completely cut off from each other by this stranger, and Dean didn't think that he was here to do them any favours. "What do you want with us?"

"Oh yes, how rude of me to box you up without at least telling you my name. Howdy Sam, I'm Suriyel. You might have heard of me?" He made it sound like a question but he didn't seem to be under any doubts that Sam would recognise the name. And if the way Sam's eyes almost popped out of his head were any indication, he was right.

"Shit," was all Sam could manage, but Dean didn't hear him. Instead he had focused on the other part of the introduction. The man, or more accurately angel, had said that he had boxed them up. It took him only a moment to reach out and up to realise that he was indeed inside an invisible box only a foot wider and taller than he was. He had never come across anything like it before, and it didn't take Sam's brain to figure out that it meant that they were dealing with a pretty badass angel.

"Hmm, that's not nice," Suriyel frowned, and lifted a hand towards Sam, who had backed up into one wall of his transparent prison. He was about to click his fingers when Dean's shout stopped him, and he turned back to look at the older Winchester. "What now, I was about to have some fun?"

"You never answered Sam's other question. What do you want? Oh, and he might have heard of you but that doesn't make two of us."

"I'm insulted Dean. I expected better from a man of your reputation, even if you are a mere mortal. Sam, why don't you start and I'll fill in any gaps you might leave."

"He's an archangel, Dean," Sam told them both reluctantly, and Suriyel nodded as if he was giving gentle encouragement to a nervous student giving a speech. "One of the original primordial powers; we've met some of them before, but there are seven if the lore is correct. Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel and Saraqael. Suriyel is widely considered to be an inaccurate translation of the original pronunciation, Saraquel, but I guess the translators got that part wrong."

"They certainly did, Sammy," Suriyel nodded, and he even looked impressed as he took over. "I personally prefer the way I spell it, but I couldn't exactly correct them could I. That would scare the poor humans that write stories about us."

"Great, so you're a freakin' archangel?" Dean asked angrily, not believing how much worse their situation had just gotten. They were up against a creature of possibly limitless power and Dean had just accidently murdered an angel pal of his.

"Now Dean, I warned you. You have got to control that mouth of yours, or little Sam here is going to die before I tell you the end of my story." Dean's brow furrowed as he tried to work out what the archangel could mean, and was about to ask, when Sam was lifted a few inches off the ground and he clutched at his throat.

"Stop it," Dean yelled, throwing himself at the wall separating him from Sam. He was unable to look away as Sam's legs flailed in open air and his terrified eyes rolled back into his head. He was pulling against some invisible force around his neck, fighting as it constricted his windpipe, and he seemed to be losing the fight. "Please just stop it?"

"Why should I Dean?" The angel's face was suddenly inches from Dean's, so close that Dean could feel the hot breath of the vessel on his cheek. The voice that had been so jovial until this point was now clipped and dangerous, low and threatening. Dean shivered, but refused to take his eyes off Sam as he continued to fight, his movements growing ever slower as his body starved of air. "After all, you didn't show any mercy to the angel you slaughtered last night. That angel was my sister. You killed her in cold blood, and now I'm going to do the same to you. Only first, I think I'm going to kill your brother, and I am going to make you stand here and watch the light leave his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered, as Sam caught his eye for a fraction of a second before closing as he went limp. "Just please, stop hurting him?" He was begging, but he didn't care. "I deserve to die, but he doesn't. He didn't even know."

The archangel sighed and then he was gone, reappearing a few feet away beside Sam as he allowed the younger brother's unmoving form to slump to the ground. Snapping his fingers once he nudged Sam's side with his foot, and Sam gasped in a breath as his life was poured back into him. He coughed a couple of times and tried to stand before he realised that Suriyel was standing beside him and shank back in fear.

"Thank you," Dean dropped to his knees in relief as he saw the colour flood back into his brother's cheeks, and they locked eyes. "Thank you."

"Sorry, Dean old boy, but I didn't do that for you," the archangel told him coldly, and Dean's blood felt like it had turned to ice. "You didn't really think that one insincere apology would get Sammy off the hook, did you? I just don't want to end his life too quickly; you haven't nearly suffered enough yet for that."

"Please, Suriyel, I'll do anything. Just leave him out of it," Dean repeated, but the angel didn't even acknowledge his words.

"No, I think that a hundred or so creative deaths should suffice for dear Sam before I let him die for good. At least until he passes into hell, that is, then the fun will begin again. Then I'll get to you, Dean, and believe me when I say that your death will not be nearly as quick. The light you extinguished was one I will sorely miss, and nothing will bring her back. I will avenge the life you took, and I will have justice for her passing no matter how long it takes."

The two brothers once again exchanged a look, one that they both took comfort from, but Dean could clearly see the fear in his brother's eyes. He didn't think that he would be able to save Sammy this time, but he was never going to stop begging and pleading for reprieve. Not until the archangel finally ended him, and he died trying. Maybe not even then, if Castiel's promises about his eternal destination were to be believed.

"Now, Sammy," the archangel said pleasantly, his tone once again changing in an instant. "Why don't I let you choose the next way you die, since I'm feeling generous and I have all the time in eternity." He folded his tall frame onto the long grass beside Sam and watched as the young man tried to recover enough strength to speak.

Dean could see Sam's lips move a few seconds later, but he couldn't make out what was being said. He did however hear Suriyel's next words, which echoed eerily inside the supernaturally enclosed space in the open field, as if the bastard wanted to make extra sure that Dean could hear every syllable as clear as a bell. The colour drained from his face and he began to plead once more, but to no response.

"It seems that little Sammy here wants to drown," the archangel announced to the sky, as if an audience of millions were watching, and then smiled viciously. "That can be arranged." Then Sam was drifting, floating, as his head snapped up and he flung his arms wide. The long, messy hair that hung across his head lifted as if he were floating in an unseen ocean, and bubbles poured from his mouth and nose. His eyes were wide and desperate as he clawed at the air, trying to pull himself to the surface that was not there, but that only expended his energy more quickly. The stream of bubbles began to slow, and his movements became more and more sluggish and feeble.

Dean never stopped his constant slew of pleading, mingled with increasingly desperate profanity, but it was as if he no longer existed. The archangel simply sat cross-legged below Sam and gazed up, as Sam floundered and once again lost his fight for air. It was as though he were watching a television show, and it held his almost complete attention. Dean knew that it was an illusion of rapture because the walls of his cage were still unmoving, but it meant that Dean was unable to do anything to stop him. All he could do was watch as Sam's eyes went glassy, and his arms slumped gently against his sides.

One final bubble slipped slowly from one nostril, and then he was gone. Dean let out an agonised roar of pain at seeing his brother's life extinguished, and the archangel finally looked up at him and smiled. A single tear slid down Dean's cheek before he swiped it away angrily. There was no time for that now, he told himself firmly. Now was the time to hurt some fucking angel butt.

He punched at the invisible barrier in front of him, again and again, until he swore that he felt it give a little. He increased his assault on the air stopping him getting to Sam, who was still suspended in the ocean of oxygen in which he had drowned, kicking and punching it with all the strength he had. Then he was yanked back from it, pinned to the back wall and screaming blue murder.

"Let me go, you bastard. I'm going to rip you apart for this. You aren't even letting him fight back, or try to defend himself. I knew angels were sadistic and all, but I didn't think that they were cowards."

"Don't you dare," Suriyel roared, and Dean could feel the snap of tendons as he was pressed even tighter to the flat wall. The archangel seemed to grow even taller, and Dean had to shield his eyes from the sudden angry white light pouring from the vessel's body. It could only hold back so much angel fury. "Don't you dare call me a coward, Dean Winchester. You have no idea who you are messing with, and absolutely no idea just what I am capable of." As if to prove his point, although whether it was to Dean or himself wasn't clear, he set Sam down onto the ground in a heap and revived him once more. This time, however, Sam was not so quick to fill his lungs as he frantically tried to expel enough water to make room for oxygen. Suriyel swept his arms upwards with a majesty and grace that no human could hope to emulate, and half an ocean was flung from his brother's body. It escaped from his very pores, through clothes and skin, and hung in the air around his still form in a million tiny droplets.

"Watch the water, Dean, and see my power manifest," the angel told him, and in an instant every droplet burst into flame, filling the air around Sam with fire and smoke. Dean heard Sam scream in agony as the fire consumed him, and then the fire was gone, replaced with a huge, solid block of ice. Dean could see Sam's still prone figure encased at the centre and bit his lower lip in an effort not to say anything further, before the ice was gone and the water instead remained. It hung in the air for a moment later before swirling outwards like a hurricane with Sam in the centre, and then it was as if it had never existed. Only Sam's terrified gasps and Dean's stunned silence remained as evidence that anything had happened.

"Impressive," Dean agreed, "but that does not give you the right to murder an innocent man over and over without a chance to fight back. You are not God, not even you have that right."

"God is gone, Dean. I'm as close as anyone can ever be. But as such I will be just and fair. Sam does have the right to fight, as much good as that will do." He waved a hand towards Sam and sighed again, as if this were the most mundane task in the world. "Get up Sammy, and show your brother what you are made of. Let's have it his way and make it a fair fight."

Sam didn't stir from where he lay, and Dean could see that he was barely moving at all. That meant that he was barely breathing.

"Come on Sammy, get up," Dean shouted, praying to whatever there was left of God that Sam was still able to get up. "You need to fight back, to survive." He heard the archangel laugh coldly from where he watched the one-sided exchange, and gritted his teeth with hatred against this hideous excuse for an immortal. To think that this thing was Gabriel's brother, Michael's brother; even Uriel had had his moments of redemption and honour.

"Come on Sammy." Dean was beginning to despair when he saw Sam's head twitch, and then his brother pushing himself slowly to his knees. His heart leapt and he found himself screaming and hoarse. "That's it, Sam, get up."

"Yes, Sammy, get up and fight. Dean thinks that you should have the chance to defend yourself, and it'll make it more fun this way." Suriyel paused, and then seemed to change his mind about something. "In fact, let's have a little change of scenery whilst we are at it." With a thought he transported them once again, this time into what looked like an empty museum gallery. Sculptures from mythology were scattered artfully around them as they materialised, and they were standing beneath a vast portrait.

Dean glanced at the portrait once without truly seeing it, before doing a double take when he realised what the depiction was of. Seven tall winged creatures artfully occupied the forefront, vanquishing what looked distinctly like a demon.

"Sick bastard," Dean whispered, awed that anyone, angel or not, could be so full of hubris as to fight beneath his own portrait. He hoped that Suriyel wouldn't hear him, but it just wasn't his day. The archangel turned his gaze back upon Dean and didn't even both to show off his powers as he rounded on him with rage distorting his features.

"You're going to regret that," he hissed, and Dean heard a sickening snap as Sam's spinal cord snapped and he slumped lifeless on the ground.

"No," Dean screamed, and slammed his palms against the wall of his transparent prison. He had a gut-wrenching feeling that their deaths warrants had finally been signed, permenantly, and couldn't help the overwhelming flood of sorrow at this being the last time he saw his baby brother before he died.

"There's been a change of plans, Dean. I'm going to smite your pathetic little demonic brother and then I'm going to end you. This earth will be rid of you, and then you can both go and rot in the deepest reaches of hell for what you have done." The archangel didn't even bother to look back at Dean as he focused on Sam; didn't notice how Dean's arms passed straight through where the barrier had been prior, and into open space. Dean didn't wait to figure out why the wall was gone, he simply reacted upon instinct.

"Get the hell away from my brother, you bastard," Dean spat, hurling himself towards the man who was bending over Sam's prone form as he lay helpless and unmoving on the ground. Well, man wasn't an accurate description of him. Whilst he looked for all the world like a man, Dean was well aware that it was only a mask to shield the terrifying creature that now inhabited the poor man's body. Whoever this slim, well-groomed young man had been before he had been taken was long gone, leaving behind only his likeness and a meat suit for its current inhabitant; an inhabitant that was reaching out the man's hand to send Sam somewhere Dean couldn't follow.

"Make me," came the snarled response, as his attacker turned just in time to deflect Dean's assault and divert his trajectory into the nearby wall, directly beneath the portrait. All the air left Dean's lungs, not unlike how it had abandoned Sam only moments before when his back had been broken, as he impacted upon the immovable marble with a sickening crunch, and then he fell to the floor in a heap and was still. With a slow, satisfied smirk spreading across his vacant vessel's face, the vengeful angel turned his attention back to the younger brother, unconscious at his feet.

"It's a pity that Dean isn't going to be awake to watch this, but I can still enjoy this," he said in a flat, calm tone, pressing a finger gently into Sam's still chest. "Goodbye, little Sammy."

"Suriyel!" A crackle in the air announced the presence of a fourth being to the vast gallery, and Suriyel looked up into the eyes of a furious Castiel. "You are to stop this immediately."

"By whose authority do you command me to do anything, Castiel. You forget your place." The archangel rose to his full height and towered over Castiel, who swallowed heavily yet held his ground and his superior's penetrating gaze.

"I come on behalf of one who does have that authority, Suriyel, and as such you have been ordered to leave these humans alive and undamaged. You know what must come to be, and why they cannot be harmed."

"I cannot just let them go, no matter what Michael's instructions are. This one," he gestured towards Dean's unconscious body, "slaughtered Selena in cold blood. She would have had no chance to defend herself. She…" Castiel held up a hand to silence the vehement speech, and the archangel was too stunned by his actions to react.

"Elena fell, Suriyel. You know that I cannot lie, so hear me. Raphael tried to stop her but her grace has left her."

"It cannot be so." Castiel shielded his eyes just in time to escape a blinding flash of light so agonisingly bright that it would blind all creatures but God and his archangels, and then Suriyel was gone. Castiel suspected that Michael would have to deal with his wayward brother momentarily, and couldn't help but empathise with the stricken archangel. He hadn't known Selena well, despite an eternity to mingle, but he had been aware of her deep significance to the archangel. She had been, if such a thing were permissible, Suriyel's favourite charge, and for her to have fallen was unthinkable. However, to have acted with such volatility was unforgivable.

"Oh God," Dean rubbed his head as he got gingerly to his feet, wincing at the pounding beneath his skull. That had been a really solid wall, and concussion was definitely not ruled out. "Sam?" His jumbled thoughts caught up with him and his eyes flew open. Archangel. Drowning. Snap. Sam! "Sam, Sammy!" He saw the familiar profile of Castiel standing unmoving a few feet away, and called out to the angel for help. "Castiel? Please, help Sam? Suriyel… I think he broke his spine."

Castiel broke out of his trance and strode over to Dean, laying a healing hand on his forehead as he helped him to his feet. Then he helped him to stagger over to Sam, Dean's back and legs still stiff and sore despite being healed of injury. Dean collapsed beside his brother as he lay, so still and lifeless, on the carpeted floor and pulled him into a fierce hug.

"Please, Castiel. He can't be dead. I can't face losing him again." The tears were now falling freely and he mumbled hysterically and incoherently at the overwhelmed Castiel. Human affection still baffled him, but he got the gist of the situation. Crouching down he lay a gentle hand on Sam's forehead and pulled him back to consciousness. Sam's back arched as his spine snapped back into place, and he let out a piercing scream. Dean tightened his grip on Sam's shirt as he shook and held him until he relaxed into his brother's arms.

"Sammy? Can you hear me? Talk to me," he asked, and his heart leapt when Sam lazily opened one eye to see who was talking to him.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, man, it's me. That bastard archangel is gone, hopefully forever, and Cas saved you. You're going to be fine." He loosened his grip on Sam, and carefully helped him to stand whilst checking for visible injuries. Besides being completely exhausted, and more than a little traumatised, he seemed to be in one piece, thanks to their friendly neighbourhood angel and his fucking perfect timing.

"Thanks Dean," Sam told him gratefully, as his brother helped him limp towards the exit to the gallery and to wherever they had ended up. They didn't know where the Impala was, and to Dean's dismay neither did Castiel, or where they were, but they were safe.

"No worries, it was mainly Castiel." Sam smiled, and Castiel waved it off in typical Castiel fashion.

"It was nothing."

"Where are we anyway, Cas?" Dean asked, and Castiel frowned.

"I never checked exactly, but I would suggest by the air pressure that we are somewhere in the Far East."

"Wow," Dean breathed. "Maybe we can visit India, and go for a curry." He winked at Sam, who just laughed.

"Maybe not right now, Dean," he reasoned. "Right now a bed sounds good." He gripped Dean's shoulder as he stumbled slightly from the uncomfortable but manageable twinge of pain in his back, but waved off Castiel when he moved in to help. "I'm fine."

"Sure, Sam, you're 'fine'. You are not even close to fine, but I'm sure a good night's sleep will help." Dean looked at Cas, and they were in the parking lot of a decent looking motel. Castiel assured Dean that he would find his car, and then left them alone to find a room. Minutes later Dean helped Sam into bed and then crashed himself.

"Hey Sam," he said, just before he closed his eyes to take some much needed rest. A thought had just occurred to him that he couldn't ignore.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really tell that scumbag that you wanted to drown?"

"Nope, he made that up all by himself. Could have been worse."

"Well then, what did you say to him? You seemed pretty out of it, but I hope it was good."

"I told him to go and fuck himself." Dean couldn't help but laugh at that, and pretty soon Sam was laughing too.

"That's my boy."

_**As I said at the end of the last one-shot, I will take requests for one-shots, short stories, drabbles, you name it. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to put me of the story on alert to see when I upload the next one-shot.**_


	3. I Would Give Anything

_**Title:**_

_**I Would Give Anything**_

_**Summary:**_

_**When Dean threw away his amulet, Sam couldn't leave it and hid it. Now he's been through hell and got his soul back, but that memory is still hidden. When he has his most violent flashback yet his memories resurface, leading to an argument that could change the brother's relationship for ever. **_

_**Warnings: Mild Swearing/ Very Mild Blood**_

_**Timing:**_

_**Mid Season 7 (Some Canon Timeline Ignore To Make It Fit)**_

_**Requested by:**_

_**3DBABE1999 – I hope I did it justice, and thankyou.**_

,XXX

"Sam!" He could hear Dean calling his name, but for some reason he just couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. He could see himself standing beside the Impala, after he had finished doing something really important, but he couldn't remember what it had been. Dean's voice had pulled him from his dream, one of only a handful he had experienced since regaining the ability to sleep, and now the memories dragged up by his subconscious were drifting away.

"Sammy," Dean said again, and finally Sam admitted defeat and sat up from his slumped sleeping position against the passenger door of the Impala, and looked over at his brother. Whatever his sleeping mind wanted him to remember was now well and truly out of reach, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of loss for something he didn't even know.

"Yeah, man, I'm up," he told his brother slightly irritably, the way most people are when they've just been woken from sleep before they were quite ready to be conscious. "We nearly in Greenleaf?" They were on the trail of yet another skin walker who considered it their divine right to massacre family after family for their own morbid amusement. They had been tracking the man, who could travel both as a panther and in his pickup truck, across the Idaho countryside for days, and Dean had been convinced that they would catch up to him if they drove through the night. Hence the sleeping in the car.

"Yup. Welcome to Greenleaf, Idaho. Population 862," Dean told him with mock enthusiasm. Sam could tell that his brother was flagging after a whole night in the wheel, and didn't fancy dealing with a grumpy Dean all day. They needed to find a motel, and both catch a couple hours of sleep before they tried to hunt this bastard down and end his state-wide trail of blood.

Clearly Dean had a similar idea because, not five minutes later, the Impala was pulling into a small, near empty motel off the highway. Dean hopped out as soon as the engine stopped, eager to grab his bag and check in, but Sam stayed put for a moment longer. Looking over at the driver's seat he once again tried to remember his dream, knowing that it had something to do with this car and _before_, but it was no good. He could see the flat black panel lining the inside the door, and the indent that Dean had made in the seat over the years, but nothing to jog his memory.

Sighing, he folded his long legs out of the passenger door and made his way around to the back of the car to pick up his bags. Dean had pulled them out for him and left them on the asphalt for him so he picked them up and leant against the trunk, waiting for Dean to come back with their room key. The motel wasn't big enough to need to move the car anywhere so they left it where it was and walked to the room when Dean returned, pushing open the faded wooden door to reveal a far nicer room than either had been expecting. It was a decent size, and not painted pastel for a change.

"Gonna shower and crash," Dean called from beside the bathroom door, having only paused to dump his bag before making a beeline. "Need to pee?"

"No, I'm good," Sam assured him, smiling to himself at Dean's typical bluntness, and then crawled into bed without even bothering to take off his shoes. He was out in minutes, and didn't even hear Dean padding barefoot around the room before he too succumbed to sleep.

xxx

A few short hours later Dean awoke to the smell of processed meat and cheese, and Sam already at work on his laptop at the tiny desk in one corner. It was rare to have a table they could use, and Sam was obviously taking advantage of it. After another quick trip to the bathroom and two double cheeseburgers, Dean joined Sam at the table to discuss their strategy for the hunt. Sam had done his research while Dean had slept, and within half an hour they had narrowed their search to a manageably small part of the city that they would have to scout.

"Rounds all ready to go?" Dean asked, and Sam nodded. His brows furrowed in what appeared to be discomfort and Dean was immediately focussed on his brother's face.

"Yeah, I uh… I mean, I…" Sam broke off and scrubbed a hand across his eyes. The hand was shaking a little and, when he lowered it Dean could see that his pupils were dilated and his eye movements sluggish. He clamped a hand around the table edge and tried to push himself up, but didn't seem to have any strength to exert on the table top.

In moments, so fast that it might almost have been instinctive, Dean was at his brother's side, supporting his weight and lifting him to his feet. Sam tried to dodge the offered arm but Dean looped it around his waist and steered him towards Sam's bed.

"No," Sam whispered. "I'm fine. I just need to use the bathroom real quick." Dean wasn't convinced but Sam's strength seemed to be returning, allowing him to pull against his grip towards the bathroom. He allowed Sam to lead the way, supporting only as needed and paused when he got to the door.

"You gonna be okay in there?" he asked hesitantly, watching the taller man grimace in pain. Clearly he wasn't okay, but Dean knew better than to try and force him to do anything. Sam nodded and staggered through the narrow doorway, grabbing the frame and then the sink for support. "I'll get you some pain meds. I'm right outside if you need me, Sammy." Once Sam was clear of the door he pulled it closed, allowing his brother the small luxury of privacy as he went to fetch the Tylenol from Sam's bag. This wasn't unusual for Sam, especially not since Lucifer had taken up residence inside his skull, but this was the first wobbly moment since he had been evicted and had relocated to Casa Castiel. Still, he told himself uneasily, headaches were nothing to worry about. They happened to everyone.

xxx

His vision spun, the small bathroom mirror dancing before his eyes. His head felt like it would split in two from the pain. He tried to reach for the sink, to steady himself and still the spinning, but couldn't find purchase on the slippy surface. He felt himself falling, could see the floor swirling up to meet him. The side of his head impacted with the floor with a sickening crack, and the world faded into red.

_The flames licking at his sides were excruciating, passing white-hot shards of agony up his arms and legs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even scream out for help because there was no one to hear. There was no end to the flames, the heat, or the awful smell of rotting flesh. He was in hell, in agony, and there was no escape. All he had left were the worst memories, the worst feelings and the pain._

"If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you." _The pure hatred on Dean's face at that moment had been almost too much to bear. Things had never been the same after that day. Dean had never forgiven him for what he had done, and their relationship had never truly recovered._

Silence. Dean didn't say anything, just walked away from Sam. It swung from his fingertips for a moment, a pause so long it felt like the world would end, then he dropped it and left. Down. Down. Down. Clang. _The sound of that amulet hitting the bottom of the trashcan haunted him every single day, without exception. The loud thud, as the final shred of hope for reconciliation with Dean was thrown away, would echo through the expanse of emptiness and flame, taunting and eating away at his soul and his hope._

_He missed his brother more than he could ever say, even if there had been someone to tell. He would have given anything to see him again, to tell him that he was sorry one last time, but he knew that Dean would never want to see him. He had done so many irreproachable things, hurt his brother in so many ways that he doubted that Dean had ever forgiven him._

_The realisation had cut him like a knife and still did every day. That moment, just ten years into his torment, when he had finally realised the truth, had been the worst of his entire pitiful existence. His brother hadn't thrown the amulet away because he had given up. He had thrown it away because he didn't care about Sam anymore, that his Dean was gone forever. And now he was alone, free to live his life without Sam. Maybe that was better._

xxx

Dean was pulling the pill packet out of the side of his duffel when he heard the crash in the bathroom. He dropped the box onto the floor without a second thought, shoving open the door and dropping to his knees beside his brother. Sam was on his back, head lolled to the side; and was that blood on the tiles? One finger dipped into the sticky scarlet mess on the floor confirmed his fears, and Dean quickly began to panic. He'd had plenty of experience with Sam, his visions, and his penchant for passing out, but that was a lot of blood. It was scary how many times they had had such lucky escapes from serious injury, or Castiel to help them out, but now they were alone and Sam had checked out.

"Sam?" he asked. He knew that it was too much to ask for him to just wake up. That would be too simple, but it was worth a faint hope. "Sammy." Nothing.

xxx

_He could remember everything, every agonising detail._

_He had been so distraught that day, when Dean had thrown away his gift and his family. He had taken it from the trashcan after Dean had left, because he couldn't bear to see it gone forever. He had taken it in some feeble attempt to hang on to something of their old life, their life before the world had been ripped apart by his idiocy and greed. If only he hadn't gone with Ruby behind Dean's back, or walked away from his brother when he needed him most. Maybe then things would be different. Maybe then he wouldn't be alone._

xxx

"Sam," Dean was begging now. "Sammy, I need you to wake up now. You have to be okay." He hadn't moved for over fifteen minutes and Dean was starting to scream inside. He had cleared up the blood, and sewed up the wound, but Sam was still dead to the world. No, not death. He couldn't be dead. Just not awake.

"Dean?" Dean's head snapped up as a hand shot out and grabbed hold of his shirt. Sam's eyes were wide, pupils so huge that the colour was almost gone. His eyes swept Dean's face, his hands clench in his shirt, then back to his face. "Something is missing."

"What?" Dean didn't understand. Sam was awake, but barely. He wasn't making sense, and he most likely had a concussion or worse.

"I don't…" Those eyes were so sad, so anguished that Dean wanted to pull Sam into a hug like he was five years old again. "It's gone. It's gone."

"What's gone?" Dean asked again, but Sam's eyes rolled back into his head and closed again. "No, no, no. No you don't, Sammy. You need to wake up." He tapped Sam's cheek, trying to be gentle but needing his brother to open his eyes again. "Please."

He knelt there, unwilling to move, for what seemed like a lifetime. Sam's head resting against his chest, he could feel the muscle tremors and shaky breaths as Sam's mind enveloped him inside a cocoon of nightmares that Dean could only begin to guess at. What had he meant when he said something was missing? He knew that Sam had lost a lot of his memories from before the Cage, but he had never looked so lost and afraid before. It was like half of Dean was missing and Sam couldn't see it, no matter how hard he looked.

xxx

"Dean." Sam came to, slowly, and when he opened his eyes he could see nothing but white. Where was he and where was Dean?

"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean said from behind him, and Sam was able to turn his head enough to see that he was leaning against his brother's chest. The white around him made sense as he took in the toilet and white tiles of the motel bathroom. His head was pounding, and the smell of burning flesh hung under his nose. He could remember the bathroom, the world spinning, and then the long, dark, emptiness of hell, punctuated only by his own memories.

"Oh god, Dean," he whispered, shivering despite being wrapped in a towel and his brother's strong grip. "My head." He lifted a hand to touch the back of his head, but Dean intercepted it and pushed it away.

"No."

"Why? What happened?" he asked, confused. He could still feel the flames licking at his skin, and concentrating on the here and now was hard.

"You passed out for a while there kid. Hit your head. You always were a bit clumsy."

"Awesome," he sighed, pushing himself up off Dean and dropping his head into his hands. He could feel Dean tensing behind him, but waved him off. "I'm okay, really. I just need a minute to pull myself together."

"Alright," Dean agreed. "Let me get those pills for you now. That'll help a lot." He left and Sam let his shoulders slump in defeat. He could put on a good show when he needed to, but the pain of the memories in hell had taken their toll. He still felt the helplessness and loss; could still see the hatred in Dean's eyes in his mind. He had never forgiven Sam, and he couldn't forget that. No matter what Dean said, Sam would never be able to forget or forgive himself.

Dean came back in then and helped Sam to his feet, leading him back into the bedroom and helping him onto the bed. Sam tried to relax, but every fibre of his being was telling him to burst into tears or run and hide. He never wanted to experience hell again, but he did wish that he could just leave the world behind sometimes and be free of the guilt and pain. And Dean would be free of him for good.

"What did you mean, by the way?" Dean asked, handing him two small tablets and a paper cup of water. He took them with shaking hands, and tried to make his smile look convincing. It seemed to work.

"About what?"

"You woke up for a minute back there, barely, and told me that there was something missing. It seemed pretty important. Don't you remember?"

Sam did remember. Finally. Not talking to Dean; that part he didn't remember, but he could finally remember his dream from the car.

_He had taken the amulet when Dean had left, because he couldn't leave it there. He had hidden it, to keep it safe, behind the black panel in the driver's side door of the Impala. Dean had never known. He hadn't needed to look. It was the perfect hiding place. In the end, it was too perfect. Sam had gone to hell, and by the time he had regained his soul those memories had been long gone. He had remembered almost all of his life, but his subconscious had kept this from him until now. Why, he couldn't understand._

"Sam?" Dean asked, waiting for an answer.

"Sorry," Sam said quickly, not wanting Dean to fuss over him. It was just too painful. "Dean, I think that there are a lot of things missing these days."

"I…I don't understand," Dean told him hesitantly, although Sam knew that was a lie. Dean was just trying to avoid the inevitable conflict that would follow such a conversation starter.

"No, Dean, you do understand. Things haven't been the same between us for a long time. I can say sorry until kingdom come but it isn't going to change the way things are. I've hurt you too many times for that."

"Sam," Dean began, but Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Hear me out. Better now than later." Dean closed his mouth and sat down on Sam's bed, waiting for Sam to get whatever speech he'd been planning for months off his chest. "I have done some terrible things in my time, and some stupid things. Some of those things are truly unforgivable, and I don't expect you to be able to forgive me. Hell, I won't ever be able to forgive myself. I kept hoping that would change but I can see now that it never will. I even kept…"

Sam broke off, having been about to tell Dean about the amulet, but knowing that it was by no means the right time. The phrase 'worst timing ever' sprung to mind, and he sniffed back a sob. He hadn't even realised that he was crying, but by now the tears were in full flow.

"Sammy," Dean, stood up and looked his little brother right in the eyes. "How can you say that? I forgave you for all of that. There's nothing left to forgive. I just…"

"Just what, Dean?" Sam raised his voice as he spoke, almost shouting now. "You just can't forget. Believe me, I know how you feel. I wish we could go back to before all this, and do things differently."

"Don't you get it Sam?" Dean was shouting now too, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. "We can't go back. No one ever gets to go back. We made our choices, and you screwed up. That isn't going to change, and it can't just be okay."

"Why not?" Sam begged, and Dean turned away. Sam felt a stab to his gut, a heart wrenching rejection. Dean couldn't even look at him anymore.

"Because you hurt me Sammy. You hurt me bad, and I can't bounce back like you can. I forgave you because you're my brother and you didn't mean to hurt anyone, but you did. You hurt me, and I don't know if we can ever make that right."

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, hands dropping to his sides in defeat.

"I know. I would give anything to go back. You know that. There is nothing I wouldn't do, but I can't. Maybe in time it will be different but, for now, I just can't."

"I get it," Sam said hurriedly, picking up his still full duffel bag and making a break for the motel room door, scooping up his laptop as he went. "I think I'll take this out to the car. Let's hunt this bastard so we can leave this city. Then we'll decide where to go from here."

He heard Dean agreeing as he shut the door but didn't stop to listen, instead going out to the car. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was shining, but Sam couldn't see the sun. All he saw was blackness, and flame, and the hatred on his big brother's face.

_I would give anything to go back. There's nothing I wouldn't do, but I can't._

He reached the car and wrenched open the driver's side door, fingers scrabbling and clumsy as he prised off the door panel and retrieved a small sealed, plastic bag from inside. Tearing open the plastic, he pulled the necklace out and held it in his hand, staring at it without truly seeing.

_Dean had it in his hand, then it was falling. Down. Down. Down. Clang. Gone. Everything was gone. He had lost everything._

Fury overtook him and he drew back his arm, to throw the amulet as far from him as he could. To be rid of it for good. He felt the solid charm leave his fingertips, but then he caught the thong on the end of his index finger. The amulet tugged and then sank like a stone, the dead weight swinging like a pendulum beneath his hand.

He couldn't do it. He had to have hope. He had to be able to hope that one day they could be okay, or he didn't know how to go on. He climbed into the passenger seat and leant against the window, cradling the amulet to his chest. He let the tears roll, just curling up and letting them come. He couldn't change what he had done, but he could do his best to make the future different. Then and only then would there be hope, and that was all that mattered now.

xxx

Dean let the curtain fall back into place and turned away, sinking down below the window with his back pressed to the wall. His head dropped back and he watched the dust motes swirling in the air above him, blinking back his own tears.

"I would give anything, Sammy. Anything."

_**Hope you liked it. I didn't realise until writing this how much I like making the Winchester boys cry. Oh well, I guess everyone has a weakness. If you did like it and you feel so inclined, please review, alert or PM me. If not, please tell me how I can improve. Any requests will be gladly accepted, and are most welcome. Almost anything goes. x**_


	4. Gone - Dean POV of AHBL 1 (THE scene!)

_**AN: I know that this has been done so many times before, but it's one of my favourite scenes and I couldn't get the idea out of my head. So, for your enjoyment, here is my take on the end of All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1. You know which bit I mean. This is from Dean's POV, because I wouldn't have it any other way. Enjoy! Also included in my series, Limp!Sam collection, but I felt like it deserved a spotlight of its own.**_

_**PS. Watch this before/after/every day. This is the scene I took this from, and I did my best to keep it canon:**_

You Tu be ( .dot. )com /watch?v=9pl61zbuf74

**Title: Gone.**

**Warnings: Mild Language, Heartbreak, Crying (again!)**

_Dean_

"Come on Bobby, we're nearly there," Dean urged the older man impatiently. "This has to be the place." They had searched everywhere and all the signs pointed to this creepy little town, deserted in the middle of God-knows where, being where the yellow-eyed bastard had taken Sam.

"Okay, okay," Bobby muttered, half to himself. Dean heard him, but didn't respond. He knew that he was being harsh, and not the least bit unreasonable to the man wading through mud beside him, but he had to make sure his brother was okay.

They walked in silence for a few hundred yards further, when a silhouette a little way up ahead caught his eye. Breaking into a jog, Dean called out. They were close enough that he could tell it was Sam, even in the dark.

"Sam."

"Dean," came the almost immediate response. Sam started to head in their direction to meet them, and Dean began to sigh in relief. Sam's voice sounded hoarse, and he looked as tired as Dean felt, but he also sounded like he was alright.

Distracted by the reunion, Dean noticed a beat too late the figure slipping up from the shadows behind Sam. He barely had time to shout a warning before the figure was upon him, and at the last second Dean made out the glint of a blade in the man's hand.

"Sam, look out!" he cried, but he knew before the last word that it was too late. He watched in horror, momentarily paralysed by shock, as Sam appear to be lifted clean off his feet and the air left his lungs in an instant. Then Dean was running.

"No!" He was screaming too, but he didn't even notice. His eyes were fixed on his brother, whose knees buckled under him as he ran to catch him. He saw the other man for a second in his peripheral, until Bobby was chasing him away from the crumping Sam, but he didn't care about either of them right now. Now, his whole being was screaming: Sammy!

Dean caught him just before he hit the ground, taking the worse of the impact as he dropped to his own knees and fisting his hands in Sam's shirt front. Sam started to slump forward into his brother, unable to support his own weight anymore, but Dean held him up and caught his gaze. Sam's eyes were already hooded and his response sluggish, but he did make the effort to look at his brother for a few seconds. Then his head dropped onto his brother's chest, and Dean was shaking him to try to rouse him.

"Sam." Nothing. "Sam. Sam! Hey," Dean tried again, but he could tell that Sam couldn't respond. He was limp and unresponsive against his chest, and his eyes were nearly completely closed now.

"Hey, come here." Dean loosed his shirt and wrapped both arms around his brother, ensuring that his head was resting against his shoulder. Dean didn't want to cause his brother anymore pain, even if Sam couldn't feel it right then. He'd been hurting enough later, Dean thought grimly.

"Let me look at you." He pressed one hand gently against the open wound in the centre of Sam's spine. He'd probably seen worse, but he wanted to reassure both Sam and himself that everything was going to be okay.

"Hey look." He shook Sam again as he spoke. "Look at me. It's not even that bad." He lifted is hand as he spoke, and his heart sank like a stone. That was a lot of blood. He'd seen worse though, he told himself firmly. "It's not even that bad, alright." He didn't really know who he was talking to now, but he had to do something to help Sam. Anything.

Dean lifted his little brother to look him in the eye again, but this time Sam couldn't even lift his head to meet Dean's eye. "Sammy?" In fact Sam wasn't moving at all anymore. "Sam!" Dean gritted his teeth to keep the tears at bay and keep trying to get a response. If he kept talking to Sam, Sam would wake up. Right?

"Hey! Listen to me, we're gonna patch y'up, okay? You're gonna be as good as new, huh?" Again, there was no response, and Dean felt a damp numbness creeping through his body. His knees were soaked through, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel anything, or think about anything, other than the warm body pressed against him. He could still feel Sam's chest rising and falling with his own, but barely.

"Imma take care of you," he told the boy cradled in his arms. Sam was his kid brother. His baby brother. He had to be okay. "Imma take care of you; that's my job, right? Watching after my pain-in-the-ass little brother." Dean had always been able to fix him up, and Sam depended on him. He'd never let him down, not when it counted. He couldn't let Sammy down now.

Dean couldn't hold back the sob that forced itself from him then, didn't want to. He couldn't let Sammy down. He wouldn't. He considered praying to any God that would listen to help him, but there was no point. He was the only person Sam had ever really been able to depend on, and he alone was going to fail to save him. Sam's eyes closed agonisingly slowly, and Dean felt him shift once more as if he was trying to take a breath.

"Come on," he whispered, willing Sam to take that breath, but it never came. There was only a heavy silence, and stillness. "Sam? Sam? Sam!" He was begging for something, anything, but he knew from the pit of his stomach that it was too late.

"Sammy!" The tears began to flow freely now, but he couldn't take his eyes off his baby brother lifeless face. "No…" The word emptied him of everything. Hope. Pain. Sam was gone.

"No. No. No. No. No. No." He could only repeat himself over and over, stuck in an increasing spiral of emptiness and loss. "Come here." He could no longer bear to look at Sam's body, so he pulled him into a hug and didn't let go. The warmth was already starting to fade, and Sam was becoming heavier by the second. "Oh God!"

Dean fisted a hand in his brother's hair and squeezed his eyes shut to blink away the tears. That bastard had done this to Sam, and now he was going to die. He was going to pay for what he'd done, and then…

And then… nothing. It wouldn't bring Sammy back. There was nothing left now.

If Dean closed his eyes and held Sam close enough he could pretend for a moment that he was asleep… that Sammy was just four years old, and had had fallen asleep watching cartoons, cradled in his big brother's arms. Dean would rock him gently until he woke up, and then they would go and eat dinner, or wait up until their Dad got home.

But that was gone now. That was a dream; nothing more. Their Dad was gone, and now Dean had lost Sammy too. He was gone, and now Dean was alone.

"Sam!"

_**AN: If you enjoyed this, remember to follow, favourite or review. Requests as always are appreciated and considered. Thanks.**_


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